


Unashamed and Sacrificial

by supergirrl



Series: Words [2]
Category: Mad Max Series (Movies)
Genre: F/F, Gen, Mentions of canon-typical rape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-23
Updated: 2016-12-23
Packaged: 2018-09-11 08:24:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8971723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/supergirrl/pseuds/supergirrl
Summary: Joe was deeply paranoid, constantly suspicious the ambitions of everyone around him-the Bullet Farmer and People Eater, the other imperators, even his own sons-but the greatest danger to his regime was locked in the Vault, in the indomitable will of the women he thought he owned.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hello readers! I apologize for the massive delay in any new fics/updates on my WIPs, the election was really hard on me and so my writing fell by the wayside. This fic was originally written as the beginning of Furiosa's chapter of Our Words, but it morphed into a beast of its own and so I decided to make it a stand-alone piece. There are references to Toast's chapter of Our Words, so I would recommend reading that first, but it's not necessary. Enjoy!

As the guards worked the complicated locks, Furiosa braced herself, pushing down the knot of anxiety in her stomach. When the door swung open, she took a deep breath and walked through the tunnel that separated the Vault from the rest of the world, fighting the claustrophobia building inside her.

Ever since her own time as a breeder, Furiosa had never seen the Wives after her, and hoped to keep it that way. Her duties never brought her near the Vault and unlike the other imperators, she had no interest in trying to glimpse the Immortan’s treasures.

But today, something unprecedented had happened. One of the wives had actually demanded to be taken to Joe.

Apparently the younger of the two was dying after losing a sprog, and Joe was so enraged at another dead son that he wouldn’t let the Organic use any precious Old World drugs on her. The elder-called the Splendid, whom the imperators said was so beautiful that Joe killed any man who saw her face-wanted to beg him for the medicine to save the girl’s life. Joe was amused, but not wanting any of his male Imperators to see his prized breeder, he sent Furiosa to bring her to him.

And so she found herself standing at the entrance to the Vault, the one place she had sworn never to enter again.

Despite her discomfort, she was curious; she had heard rumors about the current inhabitants of the Vault: that they raged and screamed and fought back against Joe. She wondered how they would react to her, coming to them as his most trusted servant. Would they be bold and angry in the face of her complicity in Joe’s crimes? Or would their response be silent and withdrawn, their scorn only demonstrated with sullen, reproachful eyes?

Two women stood next to the pool, clearly waiting for her. One, who was elderly and covered in tattoos, must have been the History Woman Miss Giddy. She had come after Furiosa, when Joe decided that sane wives were more likely to make healthy babies. The other had her back turned to Furiosa, staring out through the glass dome. Miss Giddy touched a hand to her shoulder, and the woman turned to face her.

She was beautiful, Furiosa supposed, like all Wives were, but it wasn’t her face that was most striking. It was her rage, the defiance evident in every line of her body.

Furiosa saw the way she held her jaw tight and thought,  _This one hasn’t been broken yet._

“I have to put these on you.” She held out the rusty old manacles. The wife didn’t speak, merely extending her arms towards Furiosa, staring impassively at something over her head as Furiosa chained her wrists and ankles. Once the shackles were in place, Furiosa stepped towards the door, tugging on the long end of the chain in her hands and hating herself.

She alone of all the Imperators had never brought in a potential breeder, shooting any healthy young women captured during raids rather than let them fall into Joe’s filthy hands. Her crew was loyal enough to look the other way, and her hauls were large enough that Joe overlooked the fact that she had provided him with no new wives. Every time it hurt, but she knew it was for the best. Ever since her mother died, on the third day after they were taken, she wished that Mary Jo Bassa had put a bullet in her head when she had the chance. But her mother hadn’t known the fate that awaited Furiosa, and so she lived on, killing others to save them from her own fate. Better dead than breeding stock.

It was her one small act of rebellion, the only thing that reminded her that she had not always been a piece in Joe’s machine of oppression. Yet here she was, aiding him in another violation. But what choice did she have?

The wife took an awkward step forward, clearly struggling with the weight of the chains. Miss Giddy reached out a hand-whether to steady or comfort her, Furiosa was unsure-but she shrugged it off, murmuring, “I’ll be fine.”

Furiosa didn’t hear the old woman’s response as she led the Splendid back through the tunnel. She immediately breathed easier when the door clicked into place behind her.

As they moved through the Citadel to the Immortan’s private rooms, Furiosa watched her prisoner out of the corner of her eye. The wife seemed uninterested in speaking to her or even looking at her, walking with her head held high despite the chains on her wrists and ankles.

Yet Furiosa was curious. It had been so long since she’d seen, much less spoken to, another woman. Joe kept her away from the Milking Mothers, and she never interacted with any of the Wretched down below.

Finally, her curiosity got the best of her, and she asked, “Why are you doing this? She can’t be worth it.”

The Splendid’s voice was cold. “I love her. I would walk naked through the garages and let every War Boy rape me if that’s what it took to save her.”

“If you really loved her, you’d let her die.” Death was the best fate for the girl; it was the only escape from Joe that she could ever hope for. Even though Furiosa was no longer imprisoned in the Vault, she was still the warlord’s property, the same as everyone else in the Citadel, and only death would liberate her. That certainty burned her, yet it was better to accept that agonizing truth than cling to hope.  

Furiosa remembered her early days as a Wife, laying in her narrow bed and praying to the Mother, to her mothers, to all the Vuvalini riding in the eternal Green Place, to bring her the mercy of death. As the days passed and her heart continued to thud in her chest, a grim reminder that she was still a prisoner, her belief in the Mother faded. She tried her hardest to forget her life before, but sometimes now, even thousands of days later, she still dreamt of the Green Place, of her blessed childhood, surrounded by her beloved sister and mothers. For a few precious moments after waking, she would expect to see the open sky above her and Valkyrie sleeping at her side, before everything came rushing back to her, the grief threatening to crush her.

“What do you know about love?” The wife snapped.

Thoughts of riding on her bike with Valkyrie’s arms wrapped around her middle and her mother’s warm embrace as the elders told stories of the first Vuvalini flooded her mind. “More than you’d expect.”

Perhaps the wife sensed her disquiet, because she asked abruptly, “Where are all the War Boys?” The halls of the Citadel were entirely empty, a rare occurrence.

“Ordered to stay in the garages. The Immortan doesn’t want anyone seeing his Splendid.” As soon as the words left her mouth, Furiosa regretted them. As the days passed, it grew harder and harder for her to avoid speaking Joe’s words, the language he used to remind them of their place-as breeding stock or battle fodder, never human beings.

Rage flashed across the wife’s face, and she spat on the ground, then hissed, “I am not Splendid and I am not  _his_!”

“Better not let him hear you say that, or he’ll cut up the other side of your face.”

The wife gave her a sharp look, and Furiosa wondered if her words had come out as a threat, rather than the warning she intended.

But to her surprise, the other woman smirked. “Is that what you think? That he cut me as punishment? I did it to myself, because I am not a thing and I wanted him to know that.”

Furiosa had no response to that, and they fell into silence as she tried to wrap her head around the reckless bravery of this person beside her. To have the cleverness to find a blade in the Vault was impressive enough, but the courage it must have taken to turn the weapon against herself, to carve her rebellion into her face to spite Joe-that was almost unimaginable to Furiosa.

So too was her demand to be taken to Joe. It was so difficult to comprehend how someone so full of rage and defiance would willingly give herself up to him.

Furiosa thought she must love her sister-wife as intensely as she hated Joe. She wondered which was worse: to suffer the Vault alone, or to share its torments with others, people you could grow to love. Sisters. Joe had learned early on that beatings or pain did not frighten Furiosa, but threatening the others with violence was the only effective way to control her.

Even now, he still used her attachments against her. Raisa was the only one of her former sister-wives still living, and Furiosa knew that any rebellion on her part would not end well for her long-ago sister. Her loyalty to her crew, Ace especially, were another weak point for him to exploit.  

But even without those unspoken threats hanging over her head, Furiosa wouldn’t have fought back. She had struggled against him for years, and all it had done was cause more pain. No, this was better. She was Joe’s creature, through and through, and the sooner this Wife realized this, the better off she would be. All her defiance would earn her was more suffering.

As they reached the hallway leading to Joe’s rooms, Furiosa found her voice again, but stumbled over her words.

“No matter what you do, he’ll break you. If you are what he wants you to be, it’ll be easier. Safer.” She wasn’t sure what prompted her to speak, but she felt an absurd urge to warn the younger woman, to keep her from further pain.

She scoffed. “There is no safety in being his property, and he will never own me.”

 

And even though she was in chains, Furiosa knew that what she said was true. She was giving herself to Joe, but not out of fear or subservience, and not because she had given in. This defiance came from a place of love, and her act of selflessness undermined his cruelty, circumvented his attempt to dispose of them as he saw fit.

Furiosa looked at her, proud and defiant, determined to change their harsh and unforgiving world, and for the first time since her capture wondered hope was not a mistake.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> The title is taken from Warsan Shire's amazing poem, "For women who are 'difficult' to love", which I highly recommend you read. I hope you enjoyed this fic, and I will hopefully be updating Revenant and Our Words soon with their final chapters! I also have two smutty Sloast oneshots in the works, so keep on the lookout for those. Thanks for reading, as always!


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